by R. J. Lewis
“That’s quite a demand,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice even. “Anything else you have planned?”
“For now, only this,” he said, pressing a hand to my chest. “And because I’m being such a kind man, I’ll fuck you missionary just this once because you’re a sweet little virgin who deserves a gentleman’s touch for your first time. What do you say, little vixen?”
My pulse quickened, and I knew he felt it against his hand. I let out a long breath, shaking beneath him. “What makes you think I need a gentleman right now?”
“Oh?” He swiped his tongue along the seam of my lips. “You want a brute’s touch, Victoria? That’s so fucking hot.”
His hand slid down my body, leaving tingles behind. When he reached my sex, he slid his finger between my folds and rimmed my opening, watching me intently as I bucked beneath him. “Does it make your pussy gush to have a bad man touch you, Victoria?”
“Yes,” I admitted, panting, “it does.”
He slipped a finger inside me, making me gasp. “So fucking tight. Jesus.” His forehead dropped to mine as he shut his eyes, looking awed. “You’re soaked, baby. You really do want this ugly all over you.”
If he didn’t stop talking, I was going to come just from listening to his words. I could barely keep my eyes open. I moaned as he slid his finger in and out of me. Like before, he didn’t push into me far, but every time he retreated, he’d swirl his fingers around my clit, working me slowly, always applying the right pressure. His expertise at this hadn’t gone unnoticed. This man knew how to please.
And I knew…nothing.
Pulling away, he slid his briefs off him. His hands gripped my legs and he spread them apart, bending between them to deliver a thorough stroke of his tongue along my core. He ran it up my slit and sucked at my clit. I groaned, my back arching as my hands flew to his head.
He kissed up my body, taking a hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking fiercely before he trailed up further, taking my mouth against his. The kiss was sloppy now, he was busy spreading my legs apart. I felt his length along my pussy, felt his head nudge my entrance. Then he pulled back to look at himself slowly pushing in. My hands grabbed at his arms, my nails dug into his skin. I blinked back tears, the nerves flaying me open.
“You’re scared again,” he murmured, looking at me now, his eyes studying me. “Is it sinking in what you’re allowing to happen? Does it frighten you to be fucked by the likes of me?”
“It frightens me you have complete control of my fate,” I answered, honestly, as tears fell.
“Is that why you’re crying?”
“I’m crying because I’m giving you this.”
He wiped my fallen tears. “And I’m not deserving of it.”
“This is all I have to give,” I cried, shaking beneath him. “I have nothing else, Nixon.”
His brow furrowed. “You say that like you want something in return.”
The plea fled my mouth before I could stop myself. “Please don’t kill me at the end of this. Please, don’t. I’m not ready to go, Nixon. I’m not ready to see my mother.”
He stilled over me; his astonishment was palpable. He appeared in disbelief. He slowly shook his head, letting out a puff of air as he spoke. “I don’t want to kill you, baby. I want to keep you. Don’t you understand? I fought for you. I killed for you. All so I can have you.” His eyes hardened now as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and dropped his mouth to mine, delivering a chaste kiss, gritting out, “And I will have you. You’re right, I’m in full control, and I’m not trying to abuse that power. I just feel this is right. I feel it’s necessary. We’re here, two fucked up spirits, damned in this fucked up wasteland, and I can’t bear it anymore. I can’t do it alone, and neither can you. We’re doing it together, little vixen. Starting now.”
I absorbed his words slowly. It would be many nights before I understood the full extent of what he said. To learn the full weight of what he meant to do with me.
In that moment, though, I felt overwhelmed with relief. I sobbed beneath him, gasping for air, feeling grateful that my time wasn’t going to come to a violent end.
“Spread for me,” he demanded as my breaths calmed. “You can tell me no, but you’re going to fuck me with your little hands running down my back. You understand?”
I hadn’t realized I’d tensed and brought them back together again. I nodded as I spread my legs apart for him. He settled between me again, his cock pushing into my entrance.
“Like a gentleman,” he asked, tightly, “or like a brute, baby? Tell me now.”
My heart hammered in my chest. I shut my eyes, bracing myself. “Like a brute, Nixon.”
I couldn’t bear to be taken gently. It was too unnatural after what transpired in this cabin the last few days. It would have felt fake. And what I had with Nixon, I knew straightaway, was a vicious push and pull. It would not be fitting for us to act like lovers in a passionate tryst.
It was more than that.
Or worse, depending on how you looked at it.
It was a savageness. I needed to hide behind a false façade.
To confront the truth would be traumatizing.
I needed this shell. For my sanity.
To hold onto my former self, I had to pretend.
I ran my hands down his back, clawing into his flesh as he pushed into me one inch at a time.
He growled, “You’re mine,” as he tore through my virginity the same time he touched my soul.
Nixon…
She stopped breathing as he pushed into her.
She was so tight, he had to let out a few breaths to restrain himself from pushing in all the way and just taking her the way he was desperate to.
Victoria felt good.
Unnaturally good.
He felt like she was gripping his cock with the same tightness she’d gripped his soul. It was a punishing pressure. He felt twisted with pleasure, but also tense with fear.
What was he doing opening himself up to her like this?
Giving her the control until he was her captive and she was his captor.
He was giving her the power to destroy him.
In the moment, he did not mind.
He kissed her hungrily, tasting her mouth as she dug her fingernails into his back and dragged them, clawing him. The pain stole his breath; his blood touched the air, cool and stinging.
He wanted to do the same. He wanted to sink himself into her, hold her down so she could not move and brand her with his teeth sinking into her skin.
And that’s what he did.
He fucked her, like a brute, like she asked for. She cried from the pain of it, then she cried from pleasure, and then she gripped him, nails dug in his flesh like an anchor as he dropped his mouth to her neck and sucked fiercely, scraping at her skin with his teeth until she tensed and cried out some more.
There was no enjoyment.
This was brutal marking.
This was animalistic fucking.
He was showing her he possessed her.
He showed it by pinning her down and taking what he wanted, spearing his cock in and out of her with long slow thrusts.
She took the full brunt of his force. He stole her cries with his mouth, he lapped at her skin like she was water and he was dying of thirst.
But it was not all take, take, take.
He thrust deep and found a spot that contradicted her no’s. He asked her gruffly, “Does this spot make your head spin, little vixen?”
She shook her head no, but then gasped as he found it, time and time again.
But it wasn’t enough. It didn’t send him over the edge just yet. He needed to see the lost look in her eye.
He demanded it, seething, “Look at me, baby.”
And she did.
He looked her in the eyes and watched the tears slide down her face. He saw the fight in their depths. Saw the glowering and the need. Oh, the fucking need. She gave him what she’d given no other. She’d accepted her fate, l
ocked in his arms.
Used.
Abused.
Devoured.
And she couldn’t hold back the way that made her feel.
She quaked around his cock, coming hard. He felt her muscles pulsating, and it pushed him over the edge.
He came hard, shocked at the burst of pleasure, at the serenity he felt.
And when that wasn’t enough, he dazedly watched his come leave her cunt, and he adamantly used his fingers to draw them back into her again.
*
He had lost, he had mourned, and he had been no closer to figuring out his purpose in this world. He’d had no spiritual awakening, nor a moment of clarity.
Even now, possessing the girl, keeping her for himself, there would be no salvation waiting for him on the other side of this.
Nixon wasn’t looking for deliverance.
What surprised him the most about his fixation with Victoria was that she was intending to bring out the beast in him. She wanted to see him in all his roughness. There wouldn’t be sonnets written to honour their relationship; the world liked it better when the woman softened the man, when she tamed the animal from within him and changed him for the better.
That wasn’t on the table here.
It. Wasn’t. That. Kind. Of. Story.
Their reality wasn’t going to offer that kind of happily ever after. Nor would it ever.
It was going to always be this: her writhing beneath him, glaring into his eyes while he undid her, while he pulled her apart.
While he proved her wrong.
He’d fucked her three times tonight. He couldn’t seem to stop himself, and her appetite never wavered.
He filled her with his seed, and what hardened his cock the most was how wild her body bent to him while she cried for him to stop.
It was so utterly fucked up.
If she hadn’t been digging her fingers into his ass, forcing him into her as deep as he could go, he might have resisted. It was an abnormality he hadn’t learned to accept in its entirety. To fuck a girl who found it weak to give verbal consent. To fuck a girl who begged instead with her needy hands and poisonous words.
He fucking loved the shit she spewed.
“You like my cock inside you?” he’d asked.
“Any cock will do,” she’d answered.
“You’re going to scream my name, baby,” he’d promised.
“No, I won’t,” she’d argued.
“You’re mine, little vixen.”
“I’m nobody’s, Nixon.”
He’d never felt so alive.
She was insatiable in her lust for him, and when he took her, she fell into this visceral state. She wanted to be conquered; she thrived for it.
And when she lay spent, head buried in the pillow, what they’d done dawned in her pretty brown eyes and she’d hide herself under the blanket. Shame turned her cheeks crimson, and when he neared her, she shrivelled away, reminded of her fear of him.
This was going to end in madness. The voice inside him whispered. This can’t go on forever.
But he intended for it to.
When Hobbs returned, when they fled this little cabin, he was going to take Victoria with him.
He’d found a treasure that overshadowed all his previous triumphs.
She would become his greatest victory.
40.
Victoria…
I woke up the next day and found him seated at the table, just his briefs on, his hair a tantalizing mess. He was carving something out of a small piece of wood. He was already looking at me when I sat up, but the gaze was fleeting before he returned his focus to the wood.
“What are you making?” I asked him, sleepily.
“Chess pieces,” he answered, glancing at me again. Every time his eyes landed on me, my chest stirred something awful. The blues of his eyes were so bewitching. I had to look away to escape the heat of it.
“I’m not good at Chess.” I sounded shy. It couldn’t be helped. I didn’t know how to behave after last night. Every inch of me ached. I was aware I was covered in bruises, in red teeth marks, in his come. The smell of us hung pungent in the air.
“Neither am I.” He sounded amused. “It’ll be fair play. Unless…”
As his words trailed, I looked at him curiously. “Unless what?”
He watched me, never wavering. “Unless you can think of a better game.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. Without thinking, I brought my hand to my neck, remembering last night. He caught the movement, and his eyes blazed. “You want to be corrupted today, Victoria?” There was a dangerous edge in his tone. He studied me, waiting for my response.
Suppressing my eagerness, I shot him a weak smile. “I’m just really bad at Chess is all.”
His expression broke. He let out a surprised laugh and tossed the chess piece down on the table. “A day of depravity it is.”
As I made to move off the bed, I grimaced and stilled. There was a sharp pain between my legs. Nixon watched me, catching my discomfort. “Stay still. I’ll run you a bath. You’ll feel better in the water.”
He got up and cleaned the tub before filling it back up with hot water. Steam rose from the tub when he picked me up from the bed and settled me into it. The water felt cathartic on my tender flesh. I shut my eyes, savouring it.
“Is that better, Victoria?” he asked in a low voice. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was kneeling down at my level, his face close to mine. He cupped handfuls of water and poured them over my breasts, looking captivated by me. I’d never seen someone stare at me with the depth he did, with such extreme need for me echoing from his gaze.
“Yes,” I answered quietly.
“I like that you’re in pain,” he admitted, trailing his wet finger up my throat. “I like that I put it there, and that you begged for it.” His finger trailed along my bottom lip, and he stared at it, his eyes growing more distant as he added, “I like that you gave me your body and no one else got to watch you twist beneath them. Those looks are mine now. They belong to me. I can only hope I’m not too tarnished for you. That…maybe you can hold me in the same regard. That you may want me as badly as I want you…” His words faded as he tried to read my expression, searching for…
For what?
I was hardly breathing.
In that moment, I was still tired, my brain still scrambled and stretched apart.
He was asking for assurance and I’d completely missed the point.
I’d missed it and wouldn’t know it until…until I looked back on it two years later in the back of a car, bound and frightened.
My poor Nixon. I misunderstood you.
When he saw the empty look on my face, he gave me a sad smile and pulled away, as if he couldn’t bear to be vulnerable in front of me. He stood up and walked to the kitchen, his back to me, his strides slow.
As I washed myself, he made food and tea. He fed me while I sat in the tub, soaking. He’d even heated more water up for me when the water I was in began to cool. By the time I stepped out, I’d been fed and cleaned and the soreness between my legs had weaned.
I ran a damp hand down his bare back as he prepared a bath of his own. He turned to me and delivered a rough kiss against my mouth, robbing me of my breath. “Let me wash myself,” he said, biting at my lower lip. “Then I want your mouth on me.”
I glanced down at his hard cock and my legs quaked.
Weighed down with anticipation, I sat on my bed as he washed himself, taking his sweet old time, dunking his head into the water and emerging out of it like a fucking model. I couldn’t look away if I tried.
When he finished, he didn’t bother to towel himself off. He simply came to me, sopping wet, hard cock pointed into the air. I held my breath, watching the water run down his muscled torso as he came to a stop before me. I’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, blanket wrapped around me, nervously wondering how he was going to do this.
I should have known by now Nixon was simply unpredictab
le. He wanted, he took, and he wasn’t going to wait until I was comfortable with his cock so close to my face.
He ran a finger down the side of my face, looking down at me with heavy eyes. Then he suddenly gripped a handful of my hair at the top of my head and gritted out, “Suck me, vix.”
Vixen.
He kept calling me that.
I was pretty sure I preferred it to baby, but sometimes baby was all I wanted to hear coming out of his plump, biteable lips. He seemed to know when to use the terms. I wondered how obvious my expressions were.
He gripped his cock and rubbed the head of it against my lips. I opened my mouth and let him in. The sharp exhale blowing out of his mouth made me salivate. I sucked him, running my tongue along his shaft, and he cursed under his breath along the way, telling me what he liked.
Tease me.
Lick around my tip.
Take me in all the way. I want to feel the back of your throat. I want to hear you gagging, baby.
He gripped the blanket and made it fall from my body. He pinched my nipples, before gripping each in that possessive way that made my eyes roll to the back of my head. He pulled his cock out of his mouth at random times to smack against my face. I was so wet by the time he pulled back entirely and grabbed at my hips. He turned me around, knees on the edge of the bed and spread my legs apart. He buried his mouth between my ass, running his tongue up the line. I buried my face into the sheets, closing my eyes as he tongue fucked me.
When I couldn’t take it anymore, when I was writhing for his cock, he stood back up and slid into me suddenly, burying himself to the hilt. I gasped into the sheets, surprised by how different it felt to be fucked in this position.